


Eaten By A Dragon

by postjentacular



Series: Drarropoly 2.0 [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Blow Jobs, Dragon Tamer Draco, Drarropoly 2.0 - A Drarry Game/Fest, Hand Jobs, M/M, Magizoologist Harry, Rimming, THERE WAS ONLY ONE BED
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-12
Updated: 2020-01-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:07:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22225342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/postjentacular/pseuds/postjentacular
Summary: Harry Potter, The DRCMC’s second best Magizoologist, has been sent to Norway on a case; needing the help of a Dragon Tamer the Ministry assign him none other than former nemesis and all round pain in his arse, Draco Malfoy. When inclement weather traps them in a tiny cabin with only one bed...
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Series: Drarropoly 2.0 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1548979
Comments: 4
Kudos: 148
Collections: Drarropoly 2.0 - A Drarry Game/Fest





	Eaten By A Dragon

The portkey dumped him unceremoniously in a snow drift that nearly reached his knees. Harry righted himself, checked that his expandable equipment pack had made the trip safely, then tugged his dark green scarf a bit higher to cover his nose. Northern Norway, the briefing had said, rumors of an abandoned Ridgeback/Shortnose cross that were too tempting to pass up. The DRCMC had been trying to study the mixed genetics for years but with little luck, they didn't breed well in captivity. More than a couple of ranger huts had been crushed following unsuccessful mating attempts.

He checked his equipment one last time as he set off following the single set of footsteps already in the snow, towards the ranger cabin a little further up the mountain.

It was strange arriving on his own, he usually had some of his crew with him. Being the Ministry's favourite Magizoologist had its perks, he didn't often get his pick of the cases, that – rightfully – went to Rolf, a year his junior and ten times his knowledge and skill, but Harry normally got his choice of team. Something like this he would usually have Charlie at his right hand, but not this time – and it had him riled up. He and Charlie worked well together, there wasn't a Dragon Tamer he trusted more. They had each others' backs, they were in sync and now, well now he had whatever, _whoever_. His boss, Prickle, didn't even give him a name before handing over the portkey, Harry had raged that if he was eaten by a dragon he was personally going to make the entire department's lives miserable. Prickle, promised if he got eaten by a dragon he could have three days off. 

Three poxy days. It wasn't worth it.

On the cabin porch the snowy footprints from the first to arrive hadn't yet melted, they must've only been minutes ahead of him. Harry stomped the worst of the snow off his boots and stepped inside. The cabin was as simple as he expected, a mud room to leave their wet things was separated from the rest of the cabin by a wooden door. Harry quickly unlaced and pulled off his boots leaving them next to the calf-high dragonhide ones which were already sitting neatly by the door. He hung up his down-filled parka on the hook next to a heavy woollen travelling cloak. _Great, a traditionalist._

He didn't bother taking off his hat and scarf as he made his way through to the rest of the cabin; which, given the frigid air didn't let up, was the right move.

“Hi,” Harry said introducing himself to the wizard huddled in front of the fireplace, piling kindling into the hearth, “I'm Har-”

The wizard snapped his head around and finished for him, “Potter.”

“Malfoy,” Harry said wearily, dropping onto the couch, dumping his pack on the cushion next to him. “I take it you're my Dragon Tamer.”

“Well deduced, Potter,” Malfoy said, turning back to his kindling. He struck a match and held it to a scrap of paper under the matchstick-fine wood. It didn't catch.

“Incendio,” Harry waved his fingers lazily at the fireplace and nothing happened. He flicked his wand from his wrist holster and tried again, to the same result.

Malfoy turned to look at him as if he were a particularly stupid first year. “Avalanche warning.”

Harry returned the look. 

Malfoy struck another match and the paper caught, little yellow flames licked up towards the wood. He closed the grate and turned back to Harry. “No magic, warning came in just as I got inside. Surprised your Portkey was even able to land.”

“No magic?” Harry repeated, a little lost.

“Avalanche risk. No magic, no loud noises, stay inside. Ring any bells? For the love of The Founders, did you even read your briefing pack?” Malfoy rolled his eyes and walked over to the small dining table where he had left his own kitbag of well worn leather. He began methodically unpacking.

Harry had read the briefing pack, okay, skimmed it, most of it, the bit about the dragon at least. Besides he'd have time to read it now, given the 'stay inside' instruction. He tucked one socked foot under his thigh, hiding the hole in the toe, and watched Malfoy continue unpacking. Watched as his long lean body stretched across the table to stack a small pile of books next to a tidy bundle of tools wrapped tightly in a dragonhide wrap, watched as he managed to look regal in his leather trousers, fitted black shirt, not even his sock-shod feet taking away from the effect, watched as he–

“Problem, Potter?” Malfoy interrupted his thoughts.

Harry pulled his eyes up to Malfoy’s smirk. “With you? Always.”

Malfoy leaned back against the edge of the table, folding his arms and letting one ankle cross over the other, rumpling his trousers up to reveal a sliver of white ankle. He let out a huff that riffled one of the loose locks that sat across his forehead. “So we’re doing this? I thought you might have grown-up by now.”

“I have grown up,” Harry spat back. “I have!” He insisted, dropping his foot to the floor with a stomp.

“Very convincing.” Malfoy pushed himself up from the table and walked over to the kitchenette, he filled the kettle from the tap and set it on the stovetop. The gas lit with a little whoosh and he grabbed a pair of enamel camp mugs from the mug tree, dropping a teabag in each as he set them on the scratched birch countertop by the stove. When the kettle whistled Malfoy made two cups of tea, adding a splash of milk to both. He took them both back to the living area and offered one to Harry. When Harry didn’t take it, he set it on the coffee table in front of him, “Fine.”

“Look,” Malfoy continued, sitting at the dining table and taking a sip of his own tea, “while we're stuck here, can we at least pretend to be civil?”

Harry stared at him, but Malfoy didn’t avert his gaze, he held it over the mug as he continued to sip at his tea.

“Fine,” Harry conceded after a long minute. He picked up the mug and leaned back into the sofa, “I can pretend, if you can.”

“I won’t be pretending.”

Nightfall came early, as was to be expected so far north, so late in the year, but Malfoy had managed to get a good fire going in the fireplace and it had warmed the room enough for Harry to shed his hat and scarf. They’d sat through an awkward bland dinner in silence before moving back to the glow of the fireplace. “So,” Harry began carefully, putting down the briefing pack, “have you done this before?”

Malfoy looked up from his book and Harry waved the papers at him. “Hunted a dragon? You do know I am a Dragon Tamer?” 

“I know that, but I meant for the DCRMC.”

Malfoy pulled a black wallet from his pocket and flipped it open to show his Ministry ID, “I usually work with Rolf.”

“So you’re good?”

Malfoy snorted, “Of course I’m good, Potter.” 

“Shame, if you let me get eaten by a dragon, Prickle was gonna give me three days off.”

“How magnanimous of her.”

“That is what they all say about ol’ Gethsemane. Magnanimous to the marrow.” 

A hint of a smile tugged at the edge of Malfoy’s lips as he nodded in agreement.

“I've not seen you around, would've thought being in the same department we would've crossed paths in the break room, or the pub, or–”

“I'm not exactly one for socialising,” Malfoy said, turning back to his book.

“Ministry peons not good enough for you?”

“Well spotted Potter, obviously it's nothing to do with half the Ministry thinking I should have gone to Azkaban and the other half thinking I should still be there. I do my job and I go home. That’s it.” 

“Sorry, Malfoy, I didn't realise.”

“You wouldn't, would you, Golden Boy?” Malfoy quietly addressed the wall just over Harry’s left shoulder. 

Harry felt the apology roll around his tongue, but before he could get his words out, Malfoy cleared his throat and continued, “Sorry,” Malfoy said, addressing Harry directly now, “that wasn't particularly civil.”

“No,” Harry agreed, relaxing a little, “but it was honest. I prefer that.” He aimlessly shuffled the papers of his briefing pack as Malfoy let his own gaze fall back to his book. “For what it's worth,” Harry said after a few moments of rustling paper awkwardly, “I don't think you deserve Azkaban. You're a prickly arsehole, but you don’t deserve that.”

He could see Malfoy had stopped reading, but he hadn’t looked up from his book; Harry could only just make out the muttering from under Malfoy’s breath, “Like you would know anything about my arsehole.”

They sat in companionable silence for a couple more hours, the only noise the crackling of the fire and occasional rustle of a turning page. “Well,” Harry said, rising with a stretching yawn, “I’m for bed.” He picked up his pack and made his way to the bedroom door towards the back of the room. It opened with a gentle creak, he flicked on the light switch and froze in the doorway. “Malfoy,” he said resignedly, “there’s only one bed.”

Malfoy crossed the room to join him and swung the door as open as far as it would go, the door bounced off the end of the double bed that all but filled the bedroom. “Ah,” Malfoy agreed.

“I’ll take the sofa,” Harry volunteered, “you take the bed.” He turned back towards the sofa, brooking no arguments and rummaging in his bag for the blanket he knew was in there somewhere. Behind him the gentle creak and click of the bedroom door, signalled Malfoy’s own turning in for the night.

The fire in the hearth had gone out when Harry awoke the next morning, shivering under his thin knitted blanket. As much as he loved Molly’s knitting, the burgundy wool didn’t stand a chance against the Norwegian wilds. He kept it wrapped around him as he hunkered in front of the fireplace to relight it, adding a handful of kindling as he tried, and failed, to keep his teeth from chattering.

“Salazar’s taint! It’s freezing out here!” Malfoy stepped out of the bedroom, just as immaculately dressed as the day before, the same leather trousers but now paired with a fitted black cashmere jumper, his hair pulled back loosely in a bun. He tugged the sleeves of his jumper down as far as they would go and blew on the still exposed tips of his fingers. He knelt down next to Harry and took the box of matches from him, as their fingers brushed against each other, Malfoy jerked back, “You’re frozen!” He quickly lit the fire and moved over to the kitchenette, pulling down pans to start breakfast.

“You cook?” Harry asked sidling up to the stove where Malfoy was cracking eggs into a small saucepan, he began scrambling them as the kettle heated up next to it.

“Did you not get dinner last night?” Malfoy asked, a little offended.

“Heating tinned goods isn’t cooking.” Harry said reaching for the spatula Malfoy was stirring the eggs with. 

Malfoy slapped at the encroaching hand and continued to stir and scrape at the eggs. “You can do the tea.” 

After a lazy breakfast, Harry volunteered to do the dishes while Malfoy took a shower. He hadn't counted on there being so little hot water that by the time he'd filled the sink, the shower had gone freezing and a very wet Malfoy, goosebumped and wrapped only in a threadbare white towel, stomped out of the bathroom. As he ranted about Harry's complete and utter lack of consideration, Harry was captivated by the rivulet of water that ran from the ends of his damp hair down his chest to disappear into the towel sitting low on his hips.

“You’re hopeless!” Malfoy shouted, cutting through Harry’s daze, with a flap of his arms and a tantrum-worthy stomp off to the bedroom, droplets of water flying from the ends of his hair.

The day wore on slowly; a set of warm, dry clothes and two cups of tea later, Malfoy’s mood had improved enough to beat Harry at three games of muggle chess in a row. “Just wait til the warning’s over,” Harry said as Malfoy captured his king again, “I’ll trounce you at exploding snap.”

They small-talked and puttered and drank tea and packed and re-packed their kitbags until the evening drew in and they found themselves back in front of the fireplace with their books, reading by the glow of the fireplace and a couple of paraffin lamps they’d found in a cupboard. Malfoy closed his book and placed it neatly on the coffee table next to Harry's stack of Quidditch Weeklys. “Time to turn in.”

“Mmm,” Harry agreed with a yawn and reaching for his blanket that Malfoy had carefully folded and draped over the back of the couch earlier in the day.

“Don't be daft, Potter. You can't sleep out here again, you'll catch your death in the cold. The bed is big enough for the both of us.”

Harry waved his concern away, “I'll be fine, I'll build up the fire a bit before I turn in.”

“I'll wear pyjamas and keep my hands to myself if that's what bothering you.”

“It's not.”

“Good," Malfoy flashed a cheeky grin that somehow didn't look out of place, “I prefer to sleep naked.”

“There's an image I'm never gonna be able to unsee.”

“Come on, besides you're only due time off if you get eaten by a dragon, you'll still have to go to work if you die of hypothermia.”

“'m not gonna die of hypothermia.”

“No you won't, because you'll be tucked up cosy in bed.” Malfoy crossed his arms with a finality that reminded Harry of Mrs Weasley's perennial winning argument.

“Fine, but you're wearing pyjamas,” He let out a huff of resigned reluctance, “and keep your hands to yourself.”

“Not a cuddler, Potter? Could've had me fooled.”

“I am a cuddl–” Malfoy’s laugh stopped Harry mid rebuttal, “Dammit, Malfoy!”

“Come on,” Malfoy said, “bed time. I’ll even wear socks lest my shapely ankles offend your delicate sensibilities.”

“You’d be better off wearing a balaclava if that’s the case.”

They took turns in the bathroom, changing into pyjamas behind the luxurious privacy of the locked door. Harry's checked flannel bottoms hung low on his hips, the hems trailing over the floorboards. He tugged his faded and worn Cannons t-shirt down to cover the sliver of skin exposed above his pyjamas. 

Malfoy was already in bed, curled up on the right hand side of the bed, only his nose and a few tufts of blond sticking out above the duvet. Harry extinguished the lamp and gingerly felt his way to the other side of the bed.

Malfoy was right, the git. The cosy duvet was leaps and bounds ahead of his blanket, and the bed was big enough for the two of them; he could only just sense that the bed was slightly warmer on Malfoy's side where his body heat radiated invitingly. It was most disconcerting.

Harry lay on his back, as stiff as a board, most definitely, _defiantly_ keeping all his limbs to himself as he stared at the ceiling, his eyes acclimatising to the dark. As comfortable as the bed was, lying next to Malfoy was not something that encouraged sleep and it was only after what seemed like hours of listening to the deep, slow breaths of a sleeping Malfoy did Harry eventually follow suit.

It was still dark when Harry woke, but with only a handful of hours of sunlight each day, he was relying on his body clock to orientate himself. But his body clock was doing little to explain why he was wrapped around something, _someone_ , warm and why his cock was enjoying it quite so much. He froze as his brain helpfully filled in the blanks, _Malfoy_.

Malfoy’s drawl shook him out of his stupor, “If it weren’t for my own morning wood, this would be awkward.” He ground his arse into Harry’s erection.

_Fuck._

“I’ve seen you looking,” Draco continued, “you’re hardly subtle.”

_Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck._

Harry's mouth started speaking before his brain caught up, “It doesn’t have to be,” he gasped, barely above a whisper. “Be awkward, that is.”

Malfoy ground his arse backwards again, “Whatever are you suggesting, Potter?”

Encouraged, Harry trailed his hand along the waistband of Malfoy’s pyjamas until he reached the drawstring tied in a neat bow below his belly button. “Keeping warm.” He breathed into the shell of Malfoy’s ear.

“That all?” Malfoy asked.

“Depends.”

“Depends on what?” Malfoy placed his hand on top of Harry’s and snaked the two of them downwards to the firm erection tenting his pyjamas. 

“The answer I think I just got.” 

“If you were thinking–” he moaned and bucked his hips up into Harry’s palm, “–the answer was yes, you’re wrong.”

Fuck. Harry cringed as he tried to pull his hand away and get out of the bed, the cabin, _the country_ , as soon as he could. His hand wouldn’t _couldn’t_ shift, sandwiched between Malfoy’s crotch and his own firm hand. 

“It’s a yes. Please. Now.” Malfoy punctuated each word with a thrust into Harry’s palm.

Harry slipped his other arm under Draco and gripped his hip, “Sure?” Draco dropped his grip and tugged one end of his drawstring to loosen the knot, Harry didn’t waste a second pushing his hand under the waistband and inside the silky pyjamas. He swiped his thumb over the tip of Draco’s cock spreading a bubble of pre-cum as he went. 

“Fuck, please,” Draco moaned as he tried to shimmy his pyjama bottoms down one-handed. As he wriggled, Harry let go of his cock to lick a stripe up his palm; with a little more lubrication he returned to Draco’s cock, now free from its pyjama prison. Harry wrapped a loose fist around his hard cock. He pulled Malfoy tighter into his chest and stroked, one, two, three, a twist at the head, one, two, three…

Draco panted and slipped his hand under his pyjama top to pull and tweak his nipples as Harry continued to stroke him. As Draco’s head lolled to the side, Harry took his exposed neck as an invitation, sucking and biting his way up the tendons to the delicate spot behind Draco’s ear. He latched onto the spot, biting and sucking leaving no doubt about the need for a strong glamour in the morning. Draco began to make delicate little huffs, getting louder and faster in time with Harry’s fist. Harry could only just make out words between the moans: _harder, faster, more, please, please, please._ He licked over the spot he’d just sucked purple and then whispered into the shell of his ear, “Come for me, Draco.”

Draco did. Fast and hot. He spurted over Harry’s hand, juddering his way through his orgasm coating Harry’s fist and the bedsheets with thick white ropes. Harry held him until he stilled and his breathing evened out. Harry still had a loose fist wrapped around his cock when Draco tried to roll over onto his back.

“That was…” Draco trailed off, but it didn’t matter how the sentence ended.

“Yeah,” Harry agreed, dropping a kiss on Draco’s damp hairline, “That was…”

“Budge over,” Draco bashed him with his hip, “sheets are damp over this side.”

Harry waved his hand in an attempt to vanish the mess, before he remembered the avalanche risk and reluctantly budged over to the slightly cooler side of the bed. Draco followed, but instead of remaining curled up at his side he climbed atop Harry straddling his hips. “My turn.”

Draco planted a hand in the pillow at either side of Harry’s head and leant in for a kiss. It was filthy and hot, as much teeth as tongue which Harry’s last functioning brain cells told him was exactly right. He let his hands run down Draco’s back, feeling the knobs of his spine through the silk pyjama top, and down to his bare arse. 

Draco broke off the kiss and worked his way down Harry’s body, shifting his perfectly pert arse out of Harry’s reach and settling himself across Harry’s knees. He tucked his thumbs under Harry’s flannel waistband and tugged, Harry raised his hips to help get the pyjamas down. His cock bounced to attention now that it was free and Draco grinned lecherously. 

“Condoms,” Draco said. 

Harry flailed and groped at the side of the bed for his bag to no avail; Draco gave a tut and stood up to get them himself. “Get them off,” he ordered, as he grabbed his own toiletry bag fished out the box of condoms.

Harry wasted no time pulling his pyjama bottoms off and throwing them off the side of the bed, in for a galleon he pulled his t-shirt over his head messing up his hair even further in the process. Draco climbed back into position, dropping the box of condoms onto Harry’s bare chest, and unwrapping the one in his hand, rolling it onto Harry with barely a pause. He took Harry into his mouth and let his tongue curl around his cock before sliding down further and sucking. Above him, Harry writhed and wriggled, trying his damnedest not to buck, no matter how much he wanted to be buried deep in Draco’s throat. 

Harry’s hands didn’t know where they wanted to be: above his head clamped to the headboard, across his chest, fisting the sheets under him; it was only when he scuffed over Draco’s hair as he shifted positions once again and Draco’s hand shot up holding it there that it felt right. With the soft locks twisted in his fingers Draco’s hand returned to running up Harry’s inner thigh, but now it didn’t stop, sure but gentle fingers caressed his bollocks and trailed gently along his perineum until one dry finger reached his hole. As it circled it gently Harry froze in surprise and with that it left as quickly as it had arrived. 

“No,” Harry panted, “don’t stop.” Draco pulled off and looked up at Harry. Harry craned his neck to see the full wet lips. “I liked it, was just unexpected,” Harry said, reassuringly. “Please.”

Draco broke out into a huge grin, “Well, since you asked so nicely,” he said pulling another condom from the box. 

“Lube!” Harry said with a slight panic, “We need lube!”

“This isn’t for me; I don’t have any dams with me.” 

Harry let out a huff of a laugh, “Resourceful, aren’t you.”

Draco swatted at Harry’s legs, “Knees up.” Harry swung his legs in the air, hooking them behind his elbows, spreading himself wantonly wide. Draco gave a couple of chaste kisses, one to each of Harry’s thighs, before he unfurled the condom into a makeshift dam and licked a stripe over Harry’s hole.

Harry loved to be rimmed, in his experience even a rubbish rimming was good. If someone was willing to eat him out then it was going to be enjoyable, regardless of technique. This, however, was no rubbish rimming. Draco went at him with gusto, licking and slurping like a man starved. With a sure tongue, he pushed forward into the tight hole which caused Harry’s hips to buck. Draco shifted to hold him steady as he added teeth to the mix, scraping them lightly over the sensitive skin. That was all it took to push Harry over the edge, he came moaning almost incomprehensible half-sentences – _Draco...close...now_ – as his hole fluttered and clenched around Draco’s tongue.

Sated, they fell back onto the bed, Draco half across Harry’s chest, half on the mattress curled deftly to avoid the damp patch on his side of the bed. Sleep came quickly. 

“Can you feel that?” Draco asked the dark room, hours later, his voice croaky with sleep and other activities.

“What?”

“ _Lumos,_ ” cast Draco, the room lit with a warm yellow glow. “Magic’s back. The avalanche warning must be over.” He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, summoning his trousers. “Come on,” he said, pulling the trousers on and standing up, “we have a dragon to find.” He pulled a dark green sweater over his head and twisted his hair back up into its bun.

Harry rolled over in bed and pulled the covers tighter under his chin. “Well, you do,” he yawned, “I’ve got three days off, you let me get eaten by a dragon.”

**Author's Note:**

> You've landed on the Minister of Magic's Office! You must write a fic where Harry and Draco have specific roles, occupations, or vocations. You may pick any trope or tone for the fic, but some good jumping off points are fluff, angst, crack, or established relationship. They must have these two roles/occupations which are randomly assigned by a dice roll:  
> 14) Magizoologist Harry  
> 11)Dragon Tamer Draco
> 
> Whoop Whoop for the mods and #teamsnitch


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